


Momentum

by MercuryAlice



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Apocalypse, F/M, Gen, Grace Under Pressure, Zombies, possible future skye/simmons, the name of the game is torture coulson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:52:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryAlice/pseuds/MercuryAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Move. Lay down. Rest. For now, as the dust settled a little between rounds, she was almost grateful for the instructions. It was better than freezing entirely and never moving again without even realizing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Momentum

**Momentum; noun:** _The impetus and driving force gained by the development of a process or course of events._

 

 

“ _You can’t help him. Move._ ”

One day, in the distant future when the shock wore off a little and she could stand to rewind to think about, she knew that she’d probably regret following that instruction without any more hesitation than a blink and a half step before doing exactly as she was told. Sure, she could try and hate May for the disconcerting, calm five words that pushed her feet finally to move and to nearly slam into the adjacent wall as she went. Or for the sound of the gunshot a few seconds later, right before the agent turned her a few degrees to the left with a hard grip around her upper arm and forced her forward a few steps as she realized she’d stopped dead at hearing it. But she couldn’t quite reach that far into any emotion response other than exhaustion.

The hardwood floor pressed to her back drew no complaint, even as she’d lay down next to Jemma- who still hadn’t said a word in almost four hours- and laced their fingers together in what she was vaguely aware wasn’t just for Jemma’s comfort but for her own too. At least an hour and a half later, neither had moved except to glance away from the ceiling long enough to cut a glance at the two equally silent elder agents both sitting against the far wall; even then it was only Skye’s head that tipped ever so slightly in their direction. Jemma’s eyes seemed almost literally fixed on the plaster above them.

  
For the most part when her gaze drifted, both May and Coulson seemed to be lost in thought. But occasionally- twice- she’s caught a look pass between them briefly. And instead of everything else, it was that look that made it feel a little like someone was methodically dripping ice water down her back from the nape of her neck. It was the same look one set of foster parents had exchanged when she was eight a few minutes before they disconnectedly told her the kitten they’d given her a little over a month ago in an effort to get her to settle in- the one she’d literally only put down when absolutely necessary and even then reluctantly- had gone because a window had been left open. The same look she’d gotten from one or two sets of the foster parents that had seemed to like her got when they had the ‘things just aren’t working out’ talk.

That look right before something awful was said.

Except so far nothing at all had been said but for Coulson telling them to get some rest as May had closed the pretty wood door and deadlocked it behind them all, and even then it had been in a relatively hushed tone that none of them had answered verbally. Jemma had walked across the room, a little ways from the wall, and settled against the floor to stare upwards; Skye joining her after a few beats when she noticed she hadn’t moved at all to do anything, let alone rest.

“ _You can’t help him. Move._ ”

Every time her head tilted and her eyes landed on May’s impassive face, she could hear it again. Not impassive, not really. Actually the woman looked like she was unspeakably angry with the kitchen counter she spent most of the time so far looking at as it as directly in eye-line. Skye guessed the counter should be glad it wasn’t a person, because it probably would have been terrified for it’s life if it were able to be. And rightly so.

She wondered if Jemma had the same problem but with Fitz’s voice echoing a little, just out of reach.

Coulson, however, rather than look at a fixed and inanimate point, watched them for the most part. Neither smiled on the occasions their eyes met. If anything, in contrast to May’s quiet aura of awe inspiring anger and Jemma’s shell shocked silence and her own whatever the hell she must seem right then, hell if she knew, he looked more resolute than anything. That they were going to make it or that they were going to die? Skye decided to stick with the former, since the latter made her feel like she was going to be sick. And because if she convinced herself that he truly believed they were going to be okay, then she could believe it too rather than pay attention the heavy, void feeling that she supposed came with believing they weren’t.

There, in a one-story house just outside the wreck that had called itself Atlanta, not one of the four broke the silence, letting it settle like an almost physical weight. Or at least it felt like that to her, she couldn’t speak for anyone else.

Counting cracks in the uneven plaster and listening to Jemma take alarmingly even breaths turned to unconsciously matching the breathing pattern, and Skye didn’t much register conceding to sleep until she was almost literally tugged back to the waking world by the hand; blinking and just catching herself from running a blood-caked hand over her eyes with a quiet sound that made the hand gripping her other turn vice for a fraction of a second as Jemma flinched. It was another few seconds before she realized it hadn’t been her to cause the reaction, as a spluttered, tearing growl sounded from behind the door and made her head snap round to find May on her feet beside it; head canted ever so slightly before she stepped back again.

It shouldn’t have surprised her when she saw May snap forward, the door yanked smoothly open and a single silenced gunshot before it was suddenly closed and locked again, and the assassin simply sat back down next to Coulson. But this time instead of looking at the kitchen counter, her eyes turn to them.  
  
“Lay back down.” She said evenly, mostly at Simmons, who complied with a half nod. It took Skye another moment to move, as seemed to be becoming a trend, but after a look she couldn’t figure out, lay down she did. Skye half turned, the ceiling losing it’s appeal, and instead let her eyes refocus between Jemma and the two beyond her who glanced at each other again.

Move. Lay down. Rest. For now, as the dust settled a little between rounds, she was almost grateful for the instructions. It was better than freezing entirely and never moving again without even realizing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will contain how Ward and Fitz are no longer present. And the means to which they find themselves in Atlanta to begin with.


End file.
